Bitter Choices and Sweet Tea
by virtualfindingsdocumented
Summary: Bertrand Baudelaire has a wonderful family, but a phone call from an old friend reminds him of what he and his wife had to leave behind for it, and of the things they can never run away from. [Bertrand&Lemony friendship, Bertrand/Beatrice with some past unresolved Lemony/Beatrice. Contains some light descriptions of anxiety.]


Sitting on the floor of the recently decorated room, watching the two most precious people in the world for him, Bertrand felt like he finally learned what true happiness was like. Beatrice gave a mischievous laugh, as she leaned forward to tickle Violet, who laughed too. How he loved their laughs! Beatrice's had always sounded wonderful, since the first time he heard it, but she hadn't laughed a lot for a few years before Violet was born. And Violet... Bertrand cherished everything from his daughter, every sound she made, the way her inexperienced legs trembled as she learned to walk and how her little hands grabbed everything they could reach, ready to pull it apart, the way her face wrinkled as she fought against her bangs and the soft snoring when she fell asleep in her parents' bed in the middle of a story.

Life in the Baudelaire mansion could not be any better. No, it could, Bertrand thought, looking at the visible growth of Beatrice's second pregnancy. It would soon be much better. Another child, another blessing, many more sleepless nights and many more stains on the carpet. Another laugh filling the house. He wondered what he did to deserve this wonderful family.

They had made many preparations while expecting Violet. Beatrice insisted they moved into her childhood home, of which she was the sole heiress. It needed repairs and changes to be ready to house a family again, and others to be safe and appropriate for a child. She also left her work on stage, taking a job that, like Bertrand's, could be done from home. They had decided very early that they wouldn't hire anyone to take care of Violet, and would always make sure one of them could be around until she was old enough to take care of herself.

They couldn't risk having a stranger in their home. They knew by experience how many dangerous people there were around.

There was still the matter of their other occupation, that was not something they could leave whenever they wanted. Bertrand suspected they could never truly leave it, no matter how badly they wanted. It was not really a matter of wanting, both he and Beatrice still wished to do noble things and to help their allies, their friends, but at the moment Violet was their priority. They didn't want her to grow in that world, in the world Beatrice and himself did. They didn't want to be always unsure if they could make it back home at the end of the day, to risk that any wrong step could make their daughter an orphan. One day she would know that world. One day, when she was old enough, she would be able to choose for herself if she wanted to be a part of it. For now, she needed a safe home, and her parents to guide her.

It took a lot of effort, a lot of asking for favors that had been owed for years and a lot of help from the friends they still could trust, but they got an arrangement that could work. They still did their work as volunteers, but took only missions that were relatively safe and that could be done in the city.

The phone rang. Bertrand felt the fear that he always felt when he heard the sound. The fear that bad news was coming. He told Beatrice he would pick it up, and took deep breaths as he walked to his office, leaving his wife to play with their daughter.

It was not bad news. It was an old friend, who gave him an awkward greeting and took a little too long to ask the question they both knew was the reason why he called.

"May I talk with Beatrice?"

"Just a minute."

Bertrand took deep breaths as he walked back to Violet's room, but for a completely different reason. He could have said Beatrice wasn't home. He could have pretended not to recognize the voice. He could just go back to his office now, without disturbing his wife, and tell the caller that Beatrice didn't want to speak to him ever again. He could say that the caller was not welcome to call again or to ever try to contact his family. But that was not his choice to make. He could have treated the caller like an enemy, but he was not. He was an old friend, though he and Bertrand had never been that close, and he was a good man. It was not Bertrand's choice to keep him out of his life or not, and he had no right of trying to prevent him from talking to Beatrice, if she wished to. But it left him with the hard duty of telling his wife that her ex-fiancee wanted to talk to her.

Was Bertrand jealous of him? Jealousy was born of insecurity, and Bertrand was insecure of many things, but not of Beatrice's love for him. But he knew, just as surely as he knew his wife loved him, that she also still loved her ex-fiancee, and though he didn't know the exact conditions of their break up (no one knew, except the two, and no one asked, in respect for their privacy, in a life which none of them had much of it), he knew it was not for lack of love. He never saw the two of them together after the break-up, but he had seen them many times before, and saw the sparkle in their eyes.

Bertrand never liked sparkles. Sparkles could cause fires, and fires consumed everything in their way. He hoped that what showed in his and Beatrice's eyes when they looked into each other was something much safer.

"Darling, there is someone on the phone that wants to talk to you."

"Who is it?" Beatrice asked, not taking her eyes off Violet.

Bertrand hesitated.

"An old friend."

Beatrice took the little girl on her lap and turned to him, frowning.

"Which old friend?"

Bertrand hesitated again. It was enough for Beatrice to know.

"Tell him not to call again." She turned her back to Bertrand, and caressed her daughter's hair.

"Bea..."

"Tell him to never look for me again either. Tell him not to say or write my name again." She tried to stand up, with a certain difficulty, being pregnant and holding a baby in her arms. Bertrand offered to help her, but she refused. She managed to do it on her own. "Tell him I'd rather he was dead. Tell him he still is dead to me."

"You don't mean all these things." Bertrand found her harsh words very unlike her. Even towards those she hated - who weren't few - Beatrice was still delicate with her words. If she wanted to offend, sarcasm and double meaning were her preferred methods. He had never heard she say she wished that someone was dead, not even their worst enemies.

It didn't escape his notice that she would not look at him.

"It doesn't matter what I mean. I just need him to stay away." Beatrice whispered.

"May I ask you why?"

Beatrice sighed.

"I thought you would be happy with this."

"If it's because of me, then drop it, Bea. I will not keep you away from someone you care about."

"You think I care about him?" She turned her face to him, but still wouldn't meet his eyes.

"His family was always close to yours. He is a friend, not only of yours but of mine as well. We even agreed that-"

"How many of our friends we can't trust anymore?" Beatrice asked, voice soft with sadness.

"You don't believe this. You don't believe he is a criminal or a-" Firestarter. The bitter word got stuck in Bertrand's throat. "You don't believe it, and neither do I."

Beatrice looked around the room, the decoration at the same time simple but elegant. Violet's toys were thrown around here and there, as they always were when she played. The weather outside the window was cloudy.

"You are right." Beatrice finally said. "But that's not the matter."

"Then what is it, darling? Did he hurt you?"

Beatrice shook her head.

"Then why? What could Lemony Snicket possibly-"

"Don't say his name!" Beatrice almost shouted, covering her daughter's ears. It didn't make a lot of difference. Violet was more entertained playing with her mother's hair than by her parents' talk.

Bertrand stared at his wife, his eyes full of questions he didn't know how to ask.

"You are right, love. You are right. I don't hate him. I still trust him and I still care for him." Beatrice's voice was hardly above a whisper, and in her eyes, Bertrand could see a shadow of the spark that used to be there when she was with Snicket. He was right. Jealousy was born of insecurity. Bertrand was not insecure, but it would be a lie to say it did not hurt. "I wish I could still be friends with him. But it would be too dangerous. He has too many enemies and he won't stop. He won't settle down. He made his choice to continue his work no matter what, even if it costs him his life, and this makes him a danger to everyone around him. We-" Her voice failed her for a moment. "We made our choice too, Bertrand. We have a family now. I never cared for risks before, but now..." She looked at Violet. She didn't need to finish it.

"Is this..." Bertrand started but trailed off. What did he want to ask? Is this the only reason you don't want to speak to him? Is this the reason why you broke up with him?

Is this something you regret?

He could not ask any of it. Instead, he nodded.

"I will tell him you don't want to talk with him."

"Thank you, love."

Still, her expression was sad. Bertrand felt sad too. He knew Beatrice was right. They made a choice when they first learned that she was pregnant. They knew it would come with sacrifices.

Bertrand had lost many friends through the years. It was a part of growing up, of growing older. Some were gone forever. Some were still around, but were not his friends anymore. Some tried to kill him. Some joined a rebellion to throw him and his pregnant wife out of a small island. That's how life was.

He was never that close to Lemony Snicket. Though both grew up in the same place and were close to the same people, they never exchanged more than a couple words in their training days and were only properly introduced in their late teenage years. But Bertrand knew he was a good man. He also knew that Beatrice was right, he would not settle down. He was not the kind of person who would leave everything to have a family and stay safe. Not with Beatrice, not with anyone. He was the kind of person who would keep fighting for what he believed in until he could not fight anymore.

Beatrice was right, and she made her choice. She did not want that man in her life, no matter how much she cared about him. She didn't even want her children to learn his name. That was her choice and her right.

But Bertrand was not her. He could agree with her, but he could not bring himself to such drastic measures.

"She won't talk to me, will she?" Lemony asked when he picked the phone again.

"She made a very firm decision. She doesn't want you anywhere near us."

He heard a sigh.

"I imagined so. Still, I hoped there was the small chance she would change her mind."

"You know Beatrice."

"I am not trying to pursue her. Romantically, I mean."

"I know." Bertrand knew. That was not the sort of man Lemony Snicket was.

"I respect your marriage."

"I know."

"It's just-" A pause. A sound that was very familiar to Bertrand. "She was also my best friend. I am lost without her. I... I am sorry. I won't call again."

"Wait!" Bertrand did not know where this word came from, but it came, and it was followed by more words. "Beatrice made her choice and she won't change her mind, at least not anytime soon, but since you are in the city... I mean... There's a cafe a few blocks from here that is both comfortable and discreet. Maybe..."

Bertrand had no idea of what he was doing or saying anymore. Fortunately, Lemony seemed to get it.

"When?"

"In 30 minutes maybe?"

A long pause.

"Will Beatrice approve of this?"

"Probably not," Bertrand confessed.

"Will she know about it?"

"Later, maybe."

"Will she hate me any more than she already does?"

"I don't think that's possible."

* * *

Bertrand still had no idea of what he was doing. He waited 25 minutes and told Beatrice he wanted to go somewhere. She gave him a funny look, before kissing him and turning her attention back to Violet, who was pulling out the head of a doll.

He had never been close to Lemony Snicket. In their youth, they were quite opposites of one another. They trained under the same woman and received very different evaluations. Bertrand had always been cautious and followed every rule. Lemony had always been fearless and followed only whatever it was that was inside of his head. Lemony had the stories of brilliant parents to guide him. Bertrand had only two names and a few scraps of newspaper stolen from the library.

The only strong link between the two, besides being both volunteers, was the strong woman that they both loved.

It was tempting to ask how could Beatrice love two men who were so different, but it was not a question that should be asked. Bertrand forbid himself off thinking about Beatrice's past lover, because it brought much more unpleasant questions. Did she compare the two, like the academy and the organization often did? Were they different when it came to physical displays of affection? Did Beatrice have a favorite?

Bertrand reminded himself that he had nothing to be insecure about. She chose him. She loved him. Still, it didn't mean he was perfect. She still had the spark for Snicket. Maybe he was better at something.

Bertrand paused and cleared his head, before entering the cafe. He was not there because of Beatrice, nor because he felt any need to prove himself better than Snicket. He was there because he saw the sadness in Beatrice's face and heard it in Lemony's voice. They needed some closure, something besides the things that she was willing to say to make sure he stayed away from her life. He was there because he hadn't heard that name in so long, the last time had been back before Violet was born, when they thought he was dead. He remembered how Beatrice mourned him. He did as well. He didn't know much about how Lemony survived, but both he and Beatrice were notified of it weeks after coming back to the city. He didn't know what happened in that mission for it to go so wrong, or even if anything in the reports were true, but what mattered was that Lemony was alive and relatively well.

But Bertrand knew of other things. He knew Jacques Snicket was sent on an important mission undercover as a detective undercover as a taxi driver far away through the Hinterlands that was planned to last months. He knew that Kit Snicket was still officially marked as "missing in action", which meant she was either far away, or in the city, but hiding and unable to contact her allies. The Duchess was in Winnipeg and with all her occupations and obligations and missions there, who knew when she could go back to the city to visit. Hector was transferred to a small village and had to stay there to report any suspicious activity. Josephine and Ike were in Europe on their honeymoon. No one had heard from Olivia in months. Widdershins was out in the open sea, cataloging creatures and junk from shipwrecks. Monty took a group of volunteers to South America, going after certain specific reptiles, and between searches, Gustav filmed some shots for his next movie. Olaf was still around, but it was likely that his change of sides was permanent, and Lemony never got along with him well anyway. All their common friends were not around. Bertrand imagined Lemony felt lonely, and with Beatrice not wanting to see him, did he have anyone left to be around?

He soon spotted the man sitting at the table farthest from the door, his back to the entrance, the only one still wearing a hat inside. Having no doubts that this was the man he was looking for, Bertrand walked to him and took a seat at the table.

To say that Lemony Snicket looked like a mess would be an understatement. He was still young, not much older than Bertrand, but something in the few years they had not seen each other made him now look much older. There were dark bags under his eyes and he seemed to not have shaved in a few days, a very uncommon sight. Even his clothes, usually perfectly neat, were wrinkled and a little dirty.

Bertrand had seen people with that look before. Associates in important missions, when there was no time to care for appearances, when they spent nights without sleep trying to solve some mystery or escape someplace, when they were far from home, when surviving was the only priority. Bertrand wondered if meeting him had been the right choice, if he was not risking himself and his family. He couldn't help but take a look around, trying to identify anything or anyone suspicious.

"I think it's safe," Lemony whispered. He had not ordered anything for himself yet, and he didn't look at Bertrand. He only stared emptily at a menu place before him.

Bertrand nodded.

"Rough time?"

"You have no idea." Lemony turned the menu. "I messed up. I messed up really badly, but I am trying to fix it."

"Is it a mess we already know of, or a new one?" Bertrand couldn't help but ask.

"I don't even know. It's hard to keep track of my mistakes when they are so many."

Bertrand thought that it was hard to fix a mistake when you don't even know which mistake it is, but it was not an appropriate thing to say.

Luckily for him, a waiter approached, giving him more time to think of what would be a better thing to say.

"I think they have that drink that you like so much." Bertrand offered, trying to not draw attention to the fact that he had forgotten what drink it was. He only remembered he always saw Lemony drinking it.

"Thanks, but I think I will have just tea," Lemony whispered, trying awkwardly not to face the waiter.

Bertrand ordered two cups of tea, one for his friend and one for himself.

"Things will get better," Bertrand said, in what he hoped was a reassuring voice.

Lemony sighed.

"I hope so. I suppose you haven't heard anything from Kit lately?"

Bertrand shook his head.

"We are not really... keeping a lot in touch with anyone lately."

"Of course." Lemony nodded. "I believe it's the best choice. For the children."

Bertrand gave a sad smile. He and Beatrice made a lot of sacrifices to try to assure their children could have a safe childhood. Only time could tell if it would be enough.

He thought often of what he was leaving behind, and he knew his wife did too. He wondered often if this was the right choice. He once swore to do all he could to help the world, and now sometimes he felt like a coward for hiding in a huge mansion while his friends kept risking their lives for the greater good. Friends that he rarely talked to anymore, rarely saw. That he couldn't know when or if he would meet again.

"I think you two made the right choice," Lemony said, as if reading his thoughts. "Your children don't deserve to pay for mistakes that aren't theirs."

"Neither did any of us," Bertrand replied. It seemed to make Lemony grow quiet for a moment, a very rare sight.

Only a moment.

"You and Beatrice can give them better than our parents gave us."

"I hope so."

The waiter arrived with their tea. Bertrand took a sip of his, and made a face when he realized it already came sweetened.

"This place is not as good as I first thought."

The ghost of a smile appeared on Lemony's face.

"The world is full of disappointments. You should already be used to it, Bertrand." He took a sip of his own tea, but also frowned at the taste.

There is nothing particularly wrong with sweet tea, and both men were old enough to not be so attached to old, meaningless sayings. But customs are tricky things. When one has been accustomed to always doing things a certain way, it is hard to do it in any other way. The sweetness was hard to swallow for one used to bitterness.

Bertrand took another look at Lemony. He was a mess, visibly in a lot of pain and trouble, but ever since Bertrand first met him, that was how he always was. Always trying to fix a mistake, always running away from a trouble or another.

That's how all of them always were. All the volunteers he knew. They may get better sleep at night sometimes, or more time to change their clothes, but deep inside it was always the same. Life was always danger, and trouble, and secrets, and fear.

Bertrand himself was not much different, deep inside. Building huge gates around his home and avoiding field missions were not enough to keep danger, or at least fear of danger, out of his life. He and Beatrice made something wonderful, their family was wonderful, but the fear of the past coming back to haunt them was still strong.

How many nights has he or Beatrice stayed awake, watching Violet, making sure no one would try to harm her as she slept?

Violet was safe, Beatrice and the unborn baby were safe, and there had been no sighting of any villain nearby since they came back from the island. Still... the sweetness was hard to swallow. Bertrand still feared, and he knew Beatrice feared too, and deep inside, they were still the same volunteers they had always been. No matter how perfect and safe their life looked, it was still the same, only now there was one, soon two, another life that depended on them.

Bertrand took another sip of his tea. Some people preferred it sweet. He was never given a choice. The sugar took away the real taste, and for him, sweet tea would be no different from sweet hot water. Some people did not have to live with the fear that plagued him.

Lemony awkwardly asked about Violet. Bertrand found himself more willing to answer than he expected to be. Soon he was sharing stories and more stories about his beloved daughter. Lemony listened with attention, a certain pride in his eyes, as if she was part of his own family. In a way, she was. It could be weird to think this way, considering Lemony's and Beatrice's past relationship, but this was not what Bertrand had in mind. What he had in mind was two families, always close, sharing traditions and secrets, almost as if they were one. What he had in mind was a group of children that grew up together and shared experiences and a view of the world that very few did.

Bertrand had never been close to Lemony Snicket, but they shared a lot, including this moment, drinking the offensive tea and talking as if there were no worries, no fear, no danger lurking nearby. They would likely not see each other again, as their choices took their paths farther and farther from each other.

Bertrand knew Beatrice would ask him many questions, and he hated lying to her, but he was very good at avoiding topics he wanted to avoid. Maybe he would still tell her the truth anyway. Maybe she would have him sleeping on the couch for a week or two. Maybe he deserved it.

Maybe he could pretend that this was the only thing he had to worry about. After half a cup was down, the sweet tea actually tasted good.


End file.
